


Laoch

by GoldStarGrl



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Bullying, F/M, M/M, Origin Story, Poverty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3513434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldStarGrl/pseuds/GoldStarGrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was four minutes old the first time someone called him a fighter. They had no fucking idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This One's a Fighter

**Author's Note:**

> Laoch; Scottish-Gaelic for "Fighter, Warrior".
> 
> It annoys the ever-loving fuck out of me that Malcolm doesn't have a backstory. So I made him one.

 

He was born on a rainy night with lightning crackling in the sky and thunder shaking the roof of the ramshackle apartment building. He was too early, too impatient. His mum, not even eight months gone, collapsed at the top of the floor's stairs as her water broke. 

 

"Janie!" Isobel wailed back into their flat to her three-year-old daughter as she clutched the banister so tightly she nearly snapped it in two. "Janie, get Miss Reaver next door, tell her I need help!"

 

Lacey Reaver was only a year or two younger than his mum, a nursing student who lived in the horrible flat next to their own with three roommates. Nobody in the neighborhood owned a car or even a phone line that would work in this weather, so Lacey delivered him with right there at the top of the stairs, her disgusted roommates alternating between wiping Isobel's forehead clean and running to the bathroom to gag. After he opened the window and vomited into the rain, Lacey ordered Tom to run to the center of town to call an ambulance.

 

He was born at 3:16 AM on November 21st, in the south end of Glasgow, Scotland. He had under developed leg muscles and lungs, and was cold to the touch. Lacey wrapped him in every blanket she could find and wondered out loud, increasingly frantic, where the hell Tom was. 

 

"What's happening? What's wrong?" Isobel asked, tears overcoming her as she reached hopelessly for the bundle. Janie stood in the doorway of the flat, sucking her thumb as she clung to Lacey's roommate Nellie's leg.

 

"He's doesn't..." Lacey swallowed and looked back at Isobel. Nineteen years old, raising one child alone while another one balanced on the line between life and death. Her face was shiny and desperate. She looked at the baby boy, hazel eyes open and staring back up at her, large and stunned, astonished by his own consciousness. Lacey was too. She ran a thumb over his clammy forehead. 

 

"He's strong." She said, as Tom's hurried footsteps came smacking back down the pavement, his voice yelling " _in here, in here!"_. The loud whoop of the sirens filled the air. "He's breathing and blinking and doing all sorts of stuff he shouldn't be able to. You've got a fighter, Miss Tucker."

 

She didn't expect him to last the night. But he did. And the night after that, and that, and that. His eyes never closed, never stopped staring at the world around him, every dingy detail an amazing, life changing event. The doctors all thought he was strange.

 

When it became clear he wasn't going to die, Isobel named him Malcolm, after the father he would never meet, and took him home, hooked up to a respirator they couldn't afford.

 

Malcolm was a stiff, slightly awkward name with a strange spelling. He eventually grew into it, but it wasn't his true name. That name had been given to him on the floor of a grimy and broken down staircase by a lying seventeen-year-old girl. He was a fighter. The word settled in his bones before he even knew how to say it, and stayed there for the rest of his life.


	2. Notes

**Eviction Notice**  

 

**NOTICE TO TERMINATE RESIDENCY**

**To: Isobel Tucker**

 

You are herby notified that your residency on the premise is to be terminated in three days time. If you are still occupying Flat 16C after this point, you and any other occupying persons will be forcibly removed and your possessions seized as collateral. 

The reason for eviction is your failure to pay rent in over three months. If you wish to contest this you must schedule a court hearing within 30 days of receiving this notice. 

Sincerely, 

Ralph Bowen

Landlord

* * *

 

_Blackfriars Primary School_

_From the Desk of William Dulean, Headmaster_

 

To the parent(s)/guardian(s) of Malcolm Tucker,

 

This is a notice regarding an incident that happened during break today, March 9th. Malcolm was taken away from the group after physically assaulting several classmates and attempting to bite the monitor's ear off when restrained. He also used several inappropriate phrases, including " _suck my dick, you fancy stiffs_ " and " _why don't you cry about it in your fucking Ferrari_ " 

According to Malcolm, he felt he was provoked because a few of the other students were making rude comments about his family's financial situation. Be that as it may, we can not condone such hostile and violent behavior in a learning environment, much less from a ten-year-old. Therefore we have no choice but to suspend him for three days, effective immediately.

Yours,

William Dulean, Headmaster. 

 

* * *

_Hey Malc,_

_Do you want a satsuma? I can break up the wedges and slide them under the door with my next note._

_Janie_

 

janie,

no i don't want satsumas just leave me the hell alone

m

 

_Malc,_

_you don't want satsumas? Have you been replaced by some little pod person?_

_Janie_

 

go away! mum'll just yell at you for talking to me while i'm supposed to be thinking about what i did.

m

 

_Are you?_

_Janie_

 

yeah. i'd do it again.

m

 

_Jesus Malc, why do you have to make everything into a huge fucking deal? Mum's already stressed out 'cause we had to move into this stupid shoebox, she doesn't need you getting kicked out of school._

_Janie_

 

billy mcdonough said we have lice.

m

 

_What?_

_Janie_

 

in front of everyone. he said we had lice and the rats bite us at night 'cause mum doesn't have a job and we're on benefits

m

 

_Malc,_

_Did he actually say that? Did that little shit think he can talk to my brother that way? When his dirty hooker sister had her moron boyfriend crawling all over the place with fucking crack needles? Holy shit, I'm going to go down the road and kick his teeth in._

_Janie_

 

take pictures.

m

 

_Little one, don't listen to that creep. You're better than that whole fucking lot._

_Janie_

 

...really?

m

 

_Yes. Really._

_I'll be right back, I'm going to see if botha Billy's arms make the same sound when they're fucking snapped._

_Janie_


	3. If I Didn't Have You

“Mr. Tucker? Could you hang back for a mo’?”

“Yes, Miss?” 

“I want to talk to you about your SQC exam. The scores were just mailed back to the school for distribution.”

“Aw fuck. Look, Miss, I distinctly remember that was the day my idiot sister needed to go to the dentist because some scumdick at the pub knocked her tooth out when they were both drunk-“

“Mr. Tucker-“

“-And apparently she just _had_ to get it fixed before work the next day so I had to drive her in the middle of the night to some shady as shit dentist near Elder Park and so I was bloody tired when we were sitting for the exam-“

“Mr. Tucker-“

“-And how would it look, really? If you publicly shamed a student because his low socioeconomic background and dedication to his retarded - sorry, mentally fucking challenged - family members hurt his education? Anyone outside the situation would look and say ‘Oh, that poor boy is doing his best, it’s the _school_ that should be helping _him_ -“

“Mr. Tucker, be quiet. I was going to tell you got ranked a perfect A in everything.”

“…”

“You got the highest scores in the entire school.” 

“…”

“You should be very proud, these results are a gateway to any university you’d like to attend.”

“...Yeah, but I’m not going to university, am I?”

“I’m sorry, why’s that?”

“Are you stupid? Sorry Miss, but are you actually a stupid person? Look around you. Dirt is richer than most of your students. There’s fucking hookers on every corner, my cousin in Primary Five got stabbed last week. Some bloke just knifed him in his own fucking front yard ’cause he looked well fed. There is no money, anywhere.”

“Mr. Tucker, there are scholarships and federal aid you can apply for to help you pay the fees.”

“ _Federal aid_? Yeah, they’re  _really_ going to give the boy whose been suspended five times and popped by the police for selling coke money from the _government_. That’s the kind of guy they want to be associated with, _no doubt_."

“Mr. Tucker, you are being very disrespectful."

"That was fucking cruel, to tell me those scores. I’m never gonna be able to do anything with them.” 

“Malcolm-“

“I’m late for chemistry."

 

* * *

 

Janie picked him up from school that afternoon with her best friend Gretchen in the passenger’s seat. They put on lipgloss and twisted their hair in the mirrors as she drove, the beat up old CMax slightly swerving whenever Janie went to fix a fake eyelash. She kept running her tongue over her new fake tooth, which was just a little bit whiter and straighter than those surrounding it.

“Are you goin’ to the pub tonight?” Gretchen asked, her mouth hanging open as she lacquered blue mascara onto her lashes.

“Don’t I always?” Janie muttered, her eyes suddenly fixed on the road.

“Ahh, I’m so bloody sick of you being in that place.”

Malcolm leaned his head against the backseat window, letting the cold glass chill a spot on his scalp. His book bag was tossed carelessly across the seat well, all his beat up notebooks and second hand textbooks his mum had managed to scrape together for his birthday spilling on the ground.

Gretchen turned on the radio, loudly blasting some American pop song that normally made him want to take a meat cleaver to the speakers. But today he just watched the gray buildings rush by, in various states of ruin. He hated this ugly town with it's ugly buildings and it's ugly people.

Janie glanced into the rearview mirror at her abnormally quiet brother. “What’s the matter with you?”

He shrugged against the door. He could feel her eyes trained on him for a long moment.

“Gretch, why don’t you tell Malcolm about your new boyfriend?” She said loudly, pointedly. He closed his eyes, not even reacting to Gretchen’s loud speal - “Oh. My. _Gawd_ Malc, he’s got a job at the _bank_. The Gawd-Damn bank!”

They pulled into the lot next to the apartment complex - the fifth one they’d lived in since he started secondary school - and Gretchen got out to use the pay phone across the street to call the Bank Boyfriend. Janie caught Malcolm’s arm as he tried to slide out of the car.

“What’s the matter?”

“Get off of me.”

“You just sat there and let Gretch go on about that chav when we both know the only reason he's in the bank is to do the fucking cleaning. You’re only polite when you’re fucking depressed. What happened? Some prick try to mess with you again?”

Malcolm shrugged, still trying to tug his arm free. “The SQC scores came back.”

Janie frowned, a line forming in between her eyebrows. “So what? You’re like a fucking nerd, you’re always reading the paper and shit. I bet you did fine.”

“Yeah.” He said bitterly, looking down at his feet as he continued to fight her. "I did."

Her grip slackened as she understood. “Aye, Malc-“ She said, her voice soft and dripping with sympathy.

“Oh fuck off. Don’ start.” He ripped himself away and started picking up his books, shoving them back into his bag with great speed and concentration. 

Janie paused, then brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “How much is the fee for uni? 1,000? Fifteen hundred?”

“Seriously, shut the fuck up.” He stared with laser-like intensity at the cracked spine of his world history book as he pushed it down to the bottom of the sack. “It donnae matter, it’s over, it’s fucking done.” There was a faint rip of a zipper; His sister was opening her purse in the front seat.

“I want you to take this.” Janie shoved her hand under his nose, and his heart almost stopped. Clutched in between her garishly pink fingernails was a thick stack of red and blue paper. Hundred and hundreds of pounds. He pushed her hand down, looking from side to side.

“Are you a fucking mental patient? You can’t just wave that shit around here!"

Janie gave him a haughty look. “Oh shut up, little one. Who’d you think taught you that?”

“Where did you get this?”

“The sooner you put it away the less chance someone’s gonna snatch it.” She said briskly.

Malcolm dropped the money into his backpack and zipped it up, staring down at the meshed teeth. The car was silent, and he could faintly hear Gretchen talking on the phone outside.

“You don’t go to the pub every night, do you?” He asked, finally. Janie shook her head, a little more sorrowful than angry as she turned farther around in her seat. 

“I started dancing at the Landing Strip about a month ago. When Mum hurt her back.” 

“Damn it, I said I was going to handle that-“

“Yeah, you got arrested trying to sell third rate coke to a parole officer’s son! Way to fucking handle it!” Janie’s incredulous laugh pitched upwards, but she caught herself and took a deep breath. “I get paid really well, and I made it fast enough so Mum could get fixed up and back at the store 'fore they sacked her. So don't go lookin' at me with those fucking holier-than-thou puppy eyes, I did good for this family.” 

Malcolm felt his cheeks burn with shame as he tried, somehow, to make his gaze harder. His hands balled into fists, clutching his backpack, but Janie just lightly rested her fingers on top of them.  

“Look at me.” She whispered.

He met her gaze through the thick eyebrows that matched her own. Janie's eyes were uncharacteristically shiny, glistening around the edges. 

“You are so bleeding special.” She began slowly. “No! You are! Look at me this fucking instant!" She grabbed his chin and forced his head upward so he stared straight into her fierce gaze.

"Ever since you were little I saw how bleedin' hard you worked, at everything. You’re gonna be the one that gets the hell out of this place. I can feel it.” She patted the top of the backpack. “And if I can help, that’s what I’m going to do. So you’re taking this money.”

“Janie-"

"Shut your cunt, I don’t want to hear another word about it.” Outside, Gretchen was finishing up her phone call and walking back to the car, teetering back and forth a little in her day-glo high heels. 

“Thank you.” He murmured, so softly for a moment he wasn’t even sure she heard it. But she pressed her lips together and nodded.

“You’re welcome.”

"I'll pay you back. Every fucking dime."

She pointed to the back door of the car. “Get your ass inside and keep studying."

 


	4. Extra Extra

“Do you think I should’ve sent him more money for clothes?” Isobel muttered as they entered the elevator, tracking a large, imposing man in a sharp black suit with her eyes. “I don’t want him sticking out.” 

Janie smiled weakly as she wrung her hands in the pockets of her sweater. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell her Malcolm had immediately sent back all the cash Isobel mailed him, telling Janie to use it for Mum’s electrical bill or to quit one of her own jobs.

They didn't speak as much as they used to. Mostly he wrote her short, brusque notes with checks taped to the back, tallying how much he had left before he paid her back the loan she’d given him for uni. She told him time and time again that he needn’t worry about it, but he would just mutter something about a "clean slate".

The elevator opened onto the third floor with a soft  _bing_ that was quickly drowned out by the chaos of the room. Men and women were running back and forth with stacks of paper and phones and harried expressions, often bumping into desks and walls and each other. At the end of the row of cubicles, a tall, thin man had his back turned, shouting at what looked to be a pair of interns only a year or two younger than himself.

“So next time, you’re going to check that your fucking sources are not just one bleeding idiot on two different blogs, understand? Or I will cut open your fucking stomachs, pull out your intestines, and wrap them around the telephone poles all up and down the street. The children will dance under them, and I will throw them fucking candy over your entrails. Understood?"

The two interns nodded. The girl looked terrified. The boy looked like he wanted to kick something.

The man waved them away with a long pale hand as he spun around. “Get the hell out of my sightttttt…” He bit the end of his last word and let it hiss, deflating, in between his teeth as he went pale at the sight of his family. 

Isobel raised her eyebrows. “That was colorful."

“Mum-“ He clamped his mouth shut and sped-walked down the hall, drawing in close. “What-what are you doing here?”

Isobel frowned. “Janie said you wanted to meet us for lunch.”

Malcolm’s head snapped towards his sister, eyes narrowed. “She did, did she?”

Janie held his gaze. “Yeah, you thought it seemed like time, as we haven’t seen you in _five months_.“

Malcolm was taller than her now, and glared down his nose as a response. His suit was just as gray and nondescript as all the other men in the office, but wrinkled like it had been tied up in a wet ball all night. His light brown curls were slightly overgrown, and the dark circles under his eyes made him look much older than his twenty-four years. The only part of him that he seemed to take care of was the gleaming plastic badge that hung from his neck on a blue lanyard; _M. Tucker, Senior Fact Checker, Glasgow Herald._

“Is that how you talk to people you work with?” Isobel said sternly. “I didn’t raise you to talk like some chav.”

Malcolm closed his eyes, his ears going pink. A few people popped their heads out of their cubes, looking confused, stunned even, hoping to catch a glimpse of the seemingly supernatural force that had silenced Malcolm Tucker. 

“What if we go outside?” he managed, trying to steer Isobel and Janie towards the door with a firm grasp on both of their shoulders. “Let’s go outside. I will take us out to a lovely lunch down the road, just give me ten minutes.”

Janie wrestled herself free. “I’m sorry, are you actually embarrassed to have us here?” Her tone was sharp, and a few more people looked over. Malcolm grabbed her wrist.

“I’m not-“ He caught himself, grimacing; not swearing in front of his mother seemed to be causing him physical pain. “Janie, don’t be like this.”

“Don’t be like what?”

All three Tuckers looked over at the new voice. A young man, one of the interns Malcolm had been yelling at earlier, was approaching, a manilla folder held out in front of him like a shield. He had dark, intense eyes, a snub nose, and a Glaswegian lilt even worse than theirs.

Malcolm, to the absolute shock of his family, _flushed_. Just a little, but there was no mistaking the pink in his cheeks and the new shades in his ears that weren’t there a moment before. He let go of his sister.

“I said Janie, not Jamie, you-you…” He gave up trying to insult without cursing and waved between them vaguely. “This is Janie, my sister. This is Jamie, he works in fact checking with me.” 

The young man’s eyes lit up, but not with joy; He looked rather like he had stumbled upon a delicious secret. “Is this your _family_?”

“That’s enough, we’re leaving. Tell Edgar I’m going to lunch.” 

“Oh my God, this must be your mum!” Jamie's face held a manic, angry sort of energy that was both impressive and a little alarming - something the Tuckers had only ever seen on one other person.

Malcolm rolled his eyes and rubbed the side of his head. “Jesus fuck.” He yanked the folder from Jamie's and and opened it close to his face, smirking at the ground. 

He was in love. Janie realized, all at once. Those way those dull eyes brightened when they dared to dart to Jamie, the way he leaned towards him even when Isobel stepped between them to shake his hand, beaming. The thought was simple and insane at the same time, sending tingling down her arms and legs. 

Followed by an even clearer, more devastating one. She could see it in the stiff, forced way he looked at her brother, fear tinging the edges of the begrudging deference.

Jamie wasn’t.

“Look, Bethany says to stop trying to go under her and rearrange the layout. You can’t have a full page for the MP story."

“The MP story is going to kick start a series on government spending, and then private spending within the government, and then every inch of those sorry bastards will be examine and analyzed and broken down.” Malcolm rattled off, and closed the folder. “It needs to be full page to get anyone with any real responsibilities to pay attention to it.”

“Yeah, but-“

“Do it.” He said sharply, and he reached over and gripped Jamie’s shoulder tightly. There was a moment of awkward silence as they stared each other down, punctured only by the hustle and bustle of the newsroom around them. 

Then Jamie sighed and turned on his heel, relenting. Malcolm let his hand fall from his body, swinging by his side. Isobel clapped a hand over her chest as they walked back towards the door. 

“Do people just do whatever you say?” She asked, sounding equal parts proud, amazed, and nervous. Malcolm nodded, not taking his eyes off of Jamie’s retreating back.

“I get what I want.”

Jamie wasn't, but who knew how much say he had in the matter.


	5. You Get the Horns

**You've reached Malcolm Tucker. I shouldn't have to explain how a fucking answering machine works. _Beep._**  

_Hey Malc, just letting you know I got your last two calls. I'm busy._

**This is Jamie McDonald, I'm not able to make it to the phone right now. Leave your name and number, or I will forget to call you back. _Beep._**

_Jamie, I know you're fucking home, you left two hours before me. By the way - lazy slacker much? D'you want to get a pint? I need someone to look over all these horseshit sides with me or I might just light them a-fucking-blaze._

**You've reached Malcolm Tucker. I shouldn't have to explain how a fucking answering machine works. _Beep._**

_Are you screening your phone calls? Are you a fucking fifteen-year-old girl? I told you, I’m busy. Piss off._

**This is Jamie McDonald, I'm not able to make it to the phone right now. Leave your name and number, or I will forget to call you back.  _Beep._**

_Why are you avoiding me? And don’t fucking deny it, I know that’s what you’re doing. I wasn’t raised in a fucking barn._

**You've reached Malcolm Tucker. I shouldn't have to explain how a fucking answering machine works. _Beep._**

_You’re the one who won’t pick up his goddamn phone when it rings. I just need to get away from you, OK? Sort myself-_

“Is this because I kissed you?”

“Look folks, he _does_ know how to hold a receiver. Give him a fucking prize.”

“Because it takes two to fucking tango, mate. You kissed me too. You did more than kiss me.”

“Malcolm-“

“What? You afraid all the prude priests you hang out with will hear how you gave me a fucking handy in the copy room?”

“Malcolm!”

“How we fucking fucked against the fucking wall in Whitehall? First month at number 10 I got down on my fucking knees?”

“You can’t just say stuff like that on the phone, you asscock! Someone could hear!" 

“HEY EVERYONE! JAMIE MCDONALD AND I PERFORMED FILTHY GAY SEX ACTS ON GOVERNMENT PROPERTY!”

“Shove off twatlips, you’re going to wake up your neighbors!”

“Who in the _EVER LOVING FUCK_ cares? I don’t. You know why I don’t?”

“Because you love attention way too much for someone who claims to only fucking observe?”

“Because I’m not fucking ashamed of what happened. The only thing I’m ashamed of is how I could have been fucking _bamboozled_ into wasting my valuable-as-shitting-gold time on a dickweaseled cuntsucking closet case like you." 

“Oh, fuck you. This is not even fucking about that, OK? It’s just not the right time. I'm thirty fucking years old. I have my career to think about, and if this got out…"

“Go shove a stick of dynamite up your arsehole. You don’t get to fuck with me like this, understand? You want to stop sticking your dick up my arse, fine, that’s your business. But you don’t get to fucking call off this _pooffest_ we’ve been having without talking to me first. You are not allowed that privilege. I built this power hungry cunt that you are, and I can tear him down too. Your precious fucking 'career', your fancy flat, whatever pretty little secretary you’ve got your eye on to fuck, I will take them all away _like that_. You know I can do it, I do it ten times a week. Now you have thirty fucking seconds to hang up and vacate the greater London Area for the next four to six weeks."

"Malc, could you, for once, not act like a ten-year-old when things don't go your way?"

"...This is your one fucking do-over, Okay? I am giving you one fucking chance to walk away clean. And if you ever - _ever_ \- try to touch me, or make me feel something other than digust and mild rage at the sight of your weird moonface ever again, I will _break_ you.”

“You _scare_ me, Malcolm. You're fucking _crazy_ , and if you keep being fucking crazy, nobody's gonna stay on your side."

“Leave. Now. I’m going to go get sloshed and you better not be at any bars within a eighty fucking kilo radius."  


	6. Introducing Lois Lane

**POLICE DEPARTMENT**  

**CITY OF LONDON**

**INCIDENT REPORT**

  
**FILED BY:** PC Gwyneth Harbor

_On 17 July 2002, at 2:37 AM, an altercation took place just outside St. Linus’ Pub, 94 Carter Road, East London._

_A young woman (Caucasian, dark hair, late teens to early twenties), who several witness report to have been a waitress at the pub, was physically attacked by several intoxicated men (one of whom was black, the other two of whom were Caucasian, all in their early thirties)._  

_CCTV footage shows the woman began to fight them off using her trainer to beat them around the face and neck. At 2:40 AM, she was joined by another visibly intoxicated man (Caucasian, light brown hair, mid-to-late thirties). He severely beat the other three men until they were unconscious or otherwise severely incapacitated, at approximately 2:45 AM. He then grabbed the young woman’s hand and they fled the scene before police arrived. Review of the CCTV tapes could not identify either of them, but early investigation does not indicate he was intending to harm her. Regardless, DS Lillian Uptick has issued an APB for both individuals so that they may be brought in for questioning. Rudimentary police sketches of all five persons involved are attached to this report._  

_UPDATE, 18 JULY 2002: Thanks to an anonymous tip, the three original attackers have been identified as Rhys Randall, 32, Kieran Flanagan, 31, and James McGowan, 32. All three suffered bruising to the face, neck, and torso. Randall has two broken ribs, and McGowan a broken nose, as well as red tracks across his forehead, which presumedly match the pattern on the underside of the woman’s shoe. They are all being charged with attempted rape and assault and are currently being held without bail._

 

* * *

 

_**For legal reasons, interviews with all party hires or considered hires are recorded to prevent discrimination, bribery, and other unsavory acts including but not limited to those listed in the Parliament of England, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland's Employer Conduct Handbook.**_

**_The following is a transcript of an interview that was held on the 18th of July, 2002, at 3:21 AM._**  

**MALCOLM TUCKER:** Okay, let’s just get through this fast as we can. Watching the great fucking spinning tape makes my eyes hurt. State and spell your name for the record.

**INTERVIEWEE:** Samantha Cassidy. C-A-S-S-I-D-Y. You-you really didn’t have to set this up.

**MALCOLM TUCKER:** Bullocks. Our party values hardworking, energetic young people to help us change the world. I memorized that off a mousepad Glenn had. _Glenn_. Must’ve got that thing back in the fucking Stone Age.

**SAMANTHA CASSIDY:**   Are we even allowed to be in here? All the doors were locked.

**MALCOLM TUCKER:**  It's only four hours until the rest of these should've-been abortions get in. We're just being over-fucking-achievers.

**SAMANTHA CASSIDY:** I don’t think I ever properly thanked you back there, for what you did. 

**MALCOLM TUCKER:** _[brief pause]_ It’s fine.

**SAMANTHA CASSIDY:** That was really impressive, fighting off three blokes on your own, especially at your age. _NOT_ that you’re old! You’re just _[long pause]_

**MALCOLM TUCKER:** I’m a classic, aren’t I? Never go out of style. Like blue jeans, or the Honda Civic.  

**SAMANTHA CASSIDY:** _[soft laughter]_ Thank you, though. For helping me. Who knows what would've happened if you hadn’t been-

**MALCOLM TUCKER:** We need more policemen around those bars. Especially when uni is in session, and all those pissheads go stalking little birds. That’s something you can help push through fucking DoSaC, if you quit waiting tables like some Carrie fucking Underwood wannabe and take a real, soul sucking job like the rest of us. _[brief pause]_ Y'know, that was a cheap fucking shot at Carrie Underwood, I actually quite like that song she does about destroying someone else's car. What's the hell's it called?

**SAMANTHA CASSIDY:**  "Before He Cheats."

**MALCOLM TUCKER:**  You should download that for me once you start here.

**SAMANTHA CASSIDY:** Why were you at St. Linus' in the first place? A _classic_ like you seems a little too high-up for a shithole pub like that. 

**MALCOLM TUCKER:** Oh don’t start, I just needed a drink. It was close.

**SAMANTHA CASSIDY:** You needed a bunch, from what I could see.  

**MALCOLM TUCKER:** I’m Scottish. Whiskey's like mother’s fucking milk to us.

**SAMANTHA CASSIDY:** I’m Irish. I don’t even get that sloshed at funerals. _[brief pause]_ What happened? Money trouble? Get yelled at by your boss?

**MALCOLM TUCKER:**  Fuck you, I don't have a boss.

**SAMANTHA CASSIDY** : Daddy issues? Drug dealer after you? Sexuality crisis?

**MALCOLM TUCKER:** You’re like a dog with a motherfucking bone, d’you know that? It’s very unbecoming. Specially when the bone is trying to help you get your fucking life on track. _[heavy sigh]_ Oh fucking A, you made me use extended metaphor. 

**SAMANTHA CASSIDY:** Oh! Ohhhh. I know. _[brief pause]_ Did someone break your heart?

**MALCOLM TUCKER:** _[long pause]_ Would you like this job? The interview’s just a fucking formality, legally I’ve got to fucking ask you on tape if you want this job. 

**SAMANTHA CASSIDY:** I’d get to work for you?

**MALCOLM TUCKER:**   _[sharp, brief laughter]_ Oh darling. You’d _have_ _to_ work for me. 

**SAMANTHA CASSIDY:** This is a real offer, yeah? Not just some Pity-The-Attempted-Rape-Victim thing? 

**MALCOLM TUCKER:** I don’t do pity.

**SAMANTHA CASSIDY:** I don't want you to feel like you have to save me. 

**MALCOLM TUCKER:** You said you didn’t know what would've happened if I hadn’t been fucking drowning my misery by the door? You and your goddamn _shoe_ would’ve kicked those shitwads' skinny white arses back to Cardiff. I need someone who can kick skinny white arses. There’s too many around here.

**SAMANTHA CASSIDY:** You think so?

**MALCOLM TUCKER:** _[long pause]_ What, do you want me to say ‘ _I know so_?' like we’re in a fucking Lifetime-Movie-of-The-Week? Like I’m fucking _Meredith Baxter-Birney_? No, fuck that. This is the federal government. We never say anything clever. Turn that stupid tape off, interview finished. I’m Malcolm, by the way.

**SAMANTHA CASSIDY** : You can call me Sam.

**END OF RECORDING**

**END OF TRANSCRIPT**


	7. Sometimes it Happens

_You have five missed calls from JANIE._

_You have three new text messages from JANIE._

 

**TEXT FROM: Janie - 10:16 AM**

im watching the news nothing is happenin so i know ur not busy. i need to talk to you.

 

**TEXT FROM: Janie -10:18 AM**

y dont U answer your fuckin phne? the PM holding u at gunpoint or sumthin? Wouldnt be the 1st time

 

**TEXT FROM: Janie - 10:20 AM**

I guess ull c this when u c this...

 

**TEXT FROM: Malc - 10:20 AM**

  
FUCK. fuckfuckfuckfuckityfuckfuck  _FUCK_.

 

**TEXT FROM: Janie - 10:21 AM**

How do u really feel? Because I dont think ur bein clear.

 

**TEXT FROM: Malc - 10:22 AM**

How could you fucking let this happen???

 

**TEXT FROM: Janie - 10:24 AM**

Look, little 1, u can either shut ur mouth, or I’ll shut it 4 u.

 

**TEXT FROM:**   **Malc - 10:25 AM**

Okay, okay, just give me a second to think. 

 

**TEXT FROM: Janie - 10:25 AM**

I don’t need u to _think_! I don’t need U 2 _do_ anything! I was just lettin u know ur gonna be a uncle.

 

**TEXT FROM: Malc - 10:25 AM**

You're keeping it, then?

 

**TEXT FROM: Janie - 10:25 AM**

Yeah. i am, so don't start. I'm almost 40. this might b my last chance. i can do right by this kid, give em a good chance. I've done it before.

  
**TEXT FROM:**   **Malc - 10:27 AM**

Oh fucking can it. Honestly, you've gone soft as a fucking fried eggplant in your old age. I'll have someone set you up at my place. I'm barely there and you won’t have to worry about rent while you’re getting ready for the thing. Give me the name of the dad and I’ll send Ollie after him with fucking child support papers so fucking fast it’ll make his baggy man-pussy shrivel in fear.

 

**TEXT FROM: Janie - 10:27 AM**

malc, stop.

 

**TEXT FROM: Malc - 10:27 AM**

Oh, shut your cunt. I'll have Sam send movers this afternoon. Are you still on Leland Drive?

 

**TEXT FROM: Janie - 10:27 AM**

I cant let you do all that, OK? thats not how you and me work.

 

**TEXT FROM: Malc - 10:30 AM**

What the fuck are you talking about?

 

**TEXT FROM: Malc - 10:37 AM**

Hello? Stop being a shithead.

 

**TEXT FROM: Malc - 10:41 AM**

You got me out of there. Okay? You did. This isn't a fucking favor, it's paying back the house. Your engorged tits for tat.

 

**TEXT FROM:** **Malc - 10:45 AM**

Janie? C’mon, Give me an answer, I’m very fucking busy and Sam's got a bat mitzvah to sing at or something.

 

**TEXT FROM: Janie - 11:00 AM**

It’s Julian McKay. Release your fucking hounds.

 

* * *

_**ROYAL LONDON HOSPITAL** _

_**BIRTH ANNOUNCEMENT** _

IT’S A GIRL!

_Mallory Suzanne Tucker was born on  Tuesday, July 16th, 2006 to proud ~~parents~~ mother Jane! _

_She was seven pounds, six ounces_ _!_

_What did other friends and family have to say about this exciting day?_

 

Mallory is a darling miracle, and I’m so happy to have her in our lives. You did so well in the delivery room Janie. I'm so proud of you. Love you both loads! - Isobel (Your Gram-Gram!)

**Jesus Christ Janie, what’s with all the exclamation points? It’s not like she’s the first baby anyone’s ever had. And fucking _Mallory_? I told you there’s no female fucking equivalent of Malcolm and you stick the kid with _Mallory_? Fucking hell. **

_Mallory is beautiful and I caught him staring at her picture on his laptop when he was supposed to be taking notes in a Health and Safety meeting. - Sam_

 

* * *

 

“Shhh. Shhh. Oh darling, I’m begging you to please _please_ shut the fuck up.” 

Janie woke with a start. She tried to sit up on the foldout futon, but immediately felt a hand push her back down. She squinted through the dark and saw the faint outline of Malcolm’s assistant - Sandy or Sam or something, she was too bloody tired to remember - She was wearing sweatpants and glasses. She sat lightly back down in the chair next to the pullout couch, retracting her hand and pressing a finger to her lips.

“It’s alright, go back to sleep.”

“No, it's Mallory, she needs-“ Janie tried to sit up again and Sam, once again, pushed her down. She narrowed her eyes, blearily and annoyed. “What the hell-“

“He’s got it.” 

Janie turned her head against the couch pillow under her neck as her vision adjusted to the darkness. In the archway between the kitchen and the living room, where Mallory’s cot was set up, a tall, thin figure was leaning against the wall, gently bouncing a bundle up and down. 

“Be quiet, love. Where the hell is your dummy?” Malcolm was muttering as Mallory whimpered and whined in his arms. “If you wake up Janie again, Janie will take it out on me. On my ball sack. Do you want that, Mal? Do you already have such fucking anger in you that you want your uncle’s ballsack to be ripped from his body?"

Sam guffawed a little, then ducked, closing her eyes in a poor parody of sleep. Too late. Malcolm’s neck snapped in her direction. 

“Sam, find the goddamn dummy.” He ordered, and rolling her eyes, she obediently pushed herself into standing and began scanning the ground. 

“For fuck’s sake Malc, you can’t talk like that around her, she’s six weeks old.” Janie hissed. He waved her off.  

“She’s a Tucker. Gotta learn the tools of the fucking trade. Now go back to sleep, I don’t want you bitching tomorrow morning that you're tired.”

“You need sleep more than me. No one will accidentally launch missiles if I nod off at the restaurant.”

“Malcolm doesn't need sleep like a normal human." Sam said from her hands and knees, sticking her head under the coffee table in her search.

"Very amusing, Sammy."

"I'm serious. It's a bit freaky. You should’ve seen him during the UN War Conference last month.” Sam whispered as she located the dummy under the side of the futon and rubbed it clean on her shirt. _Five days straight_ she mouthed to Janie. "He stayed awake on coffee and rage." 

“And I was a fucking delight to you the whole time." He took the dummy from her and popped it in Mallory’s mouth, and the house fell blissfully silent.

“Oh thank Christ.” Sam smiled and flopped back onto the chair, knocking her glasses askew. “I’ve got a car coming in two hours for your meeting with the Agriculture secretary. If you need anything else I’ll be unconscious.”

“Thanks, darling.” Malcolm whispered. Janie hoisted herself up on her elbows, watching him rock Mallory back and forth on the length of his arm, where she stared up at him peacefully. 

“Hell of an assistant you got, there.” Janie nodded towards Sam, who was already half-asleep, burrowing into the cushions with a throw pillow clutched to her chest. "Staying over to help nanny is way above her pay grade."

“Sam? Yeah, she’s lovely.” He murmured, lightly trailing his long fingers over the top of Mallory’s peach-fuzz head. 

“She’s a little bit in love with you.” Janie tried to keep her voice down, but Sam was out cold regardless.

Malcolm scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, cause I'm such a fucking catch.” He pointed to the pillow she had lifted herself from. “Shut up and lie down, I’ve almost got your bastard child to bed."

“If the blokes at number 10 could see you now.” Janie mumbled, yawning. He glared at her through dark circles ringing his eyes.

“Shove off.”

“I didn’t mean it bad. You just…look different. Calm, I guess.”

“You shut your whore mouth.” Malcolm gently lowered Mallory back into her cot, staying bent over her for a few seconds cautiously, waiting for another cry.

“If anyone could see you know.” Exhausted delirium was overcoming Janie, and she felt her eyes getting warm and wet as she looked at her little brother, who wasn't so little anymore. “I knew you were gonna be amazing. I told you, when you were a pissing seventeen year old. I said, that little shit is gonna change the world.” She weakly pawed at the air in between them, her arm feeling increasingly heavy as sleep started to take over. “You did good, Malc."

He straightened up, those angry, tired eyes flitting from his little niece, born on time and in a sterile hospital, to his exhausted sister, the only person on Earth who worked harder than him, to Sam, who absolutely was in love with him, and maybe he cared about her a little too much as well.

He closed his eyes, feeling the stillness, the peace of the moment. It rare and alien, and...nice.

When he exhaled and looked out at the world again Janie was still sitting up against the cushions and sheets, smiling at him through barely open eyes. He rolled his eyes and stalked behind the couch, gripping the top of her head and pushing her back down on her futon.

“Go the fuck to sleep."


	8. Standing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are always very appreciated.

_**EHHHHHHHH.**_ The loud, shrill alarm blared on the ceiling, jerking him from sleep. _All inmates report to breakfast. All inmates report to breakfast._

His eyes opened on thin metal beams, running parallel with each other above his head. The weak morning light filled the cell and the beams sagged, creaking, as the man who everyone called Jaguar rolled over on the mattress they held up. Malcolm flexed his fingers and toes, trying to wake up his tired body. He was so old, now. It took forever to get himself moving without an executive branch full of chickenshits to stop from blowing up the United Kingdom as motivation. 

It was day thirty of sleeping on the bottom bunk, wondering every night if this shift of the mattress would be the breaking point and the whole structure would come crashing down on his head. Day thirty of itchy polyester clothes, of random patdowns and room searches, of a hulking, silent roommate whose entire arms were covered with ink screaming for white power and whose eyes glared at him like a starved jungle cat. 

Day thirty in HMP Barlinnie.

He knew this prison well. He'd been threatened with it at sixteen before he managed to talk himself out of a drug possession charge. His mum had always fretted about neighbors and Janie's boyfriends and various uncles who had been sent to Barlinnie or were on their way. Most everyone he had grown up with had spent a few months here. It was a fucking rite of passage in the Gorbals. He was just experiencing it a little late.

Because he was just a Gorbals kid, deep down. He always would be. Under the suits and smartphones and files upon files of richer men's dirty little secrets he was still that ten-year-old boy. Screaming at the world because no one was listening, clawing at bullies, biting anyone who tried to touch him. 

Everything he worked for. Everything Janie and his mum had given up for him. Jamie, his cackling laugh and warm lips. His office with Mallory's finger paintings tacked to the wall. Sweet, long suffering Sam. The fear and respect that he could feel in the air, radiating out of those around him whenever he walked down a hall. It was all gone.

All he had left was that boy. All he had ever really had was that boy. That boy who, through lying and swearing and manipulation, through begging and climbing and sleepless nights and scrimping pennies, through empty beds and empty promises and a bursting heart, built an empire. 

It was only fit that boy witness it fall, bursting into flames as the buildings crumbled and the soldiers fled. His mum in tears, Sam in hysterics. Jamie angrily calling him seventeen times and then chucking his phone out of a cab. Janie punching a hole through the wall while Mallory clung to her leg, her eyes wide and full of terror. Seeing her uncle get arrested on the fucking BBC news was the worst thing that had happened to the kid since the bloodthirsty fucking reporters snapped pictures of her in the window the first time he was sacked. Hearing that she had seen him like that was so much worse. It was like being stabbed through the fucking heart with a hot spike.

He swung his bare feet onto the linoleum, where they curled against the morning chill. 

He was going to fix this for them. For all these people he loved and who loved him, against their better judgement. The king was going to rebuild the kingdom brick by brick. It was just going to take some work. And he had never shied away from anything, much less from that.

He took a deep breath, gripped the metal edge of the bunk bed with both hands, and pushed himself into standing.

One month down, only seventeen to go.

_All inmates report to breakfast. At 6:00 AM promptly, report to your work assignments._ The speaker crackled.

Time to fight again.

Not that he ever really stopped.


End file.
